


garbage

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Canonical Character Death, Cats, College, Death, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Gen, M/M, Marijuana, Multi, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Queer Youth, Trans Character, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes i post unedited WIPS on tumblr and sometimes i just let them clog up space on my computer so im going to post them all in one place and forget them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	garbage

#1

band AU

Admittedly, Tim is a total killjoy at parties, and Amy is a lot better than him on the guitar. He writes the lyrics, though, and really goes all out on stage.

It's kind of embarrassing when he gets out of hand, but a screaming Tim inches away from smashing his guitar on the floor gets the audience riled up. Brian can attest to the fact that Tim can also be dangerous. Once he kicked Brian off the stage and broke his ankle. The crowd went wild.

Brian's on the drums, and Amy and Tim play the guitar. With her singing voice, Jessica deserves to be in a much better, professional band but for some reason decides to stick with the Marble Hornets. It would probably be a good idea to include the band name on their vest patches, since whenever people see it, they ask, “Bees?” Marble and hornets are not easy to convey with stitching.

Tonight they're playing for a local bar, the best gig they've had in a while. The last time they performed was for Alex's birthday party, but that doesn't really count since they weren't being paid. Before Amy could sing the song she had written for her boyfriend, Tim and Alex got in a fistfight that ended with the cops showing up. One of them was Brian's dad. That was awkward. They spent the night in jail and Brian, even though he lives in the college dorms, was grounded.

The show's going pretty well, and almost half of the people in the bar are paying attention to them. Thankfully Tim has not yet stolen the microphone out of Jessica's hand and started yelling about capitalism while shredding his guitar out of sync with Amy.

They reach the end of the last song, and, out in the audience, Tim notices a camera. He remembers that guy, some scrawny dude named Jay who asked if it was okay to film the show. May or may not be that one guy from Alex's abandoned movie.

The others were more than okay with him filming, in fact, and would totally be alright if he posted it on YouTube (with credit, of course) or told all his friends and hey we have T-shirts if you're interested? And patches?

Tim wasn't so eager, and asked him why he was filming.

“I'm shooting a documentary on local bands,” he explained. 

the wip ends here but I wanted to say what I had planned out: jay is a big gay liar, and actually just wanted to get tim's number “for an interview, uh, for the documentary,” they go out for coffee and jay stutters a lot

\--

#2

dirty nasty rotten boy. there is something lodged in his throat - jay coughs, coughs, and coughs but it won’t come out. rotten rotten rotten. he is already wilted, he is far past the point of death.

the person in the mask is standing in the doorway.

"what do you want?" jay asks. he doesn’t sound as intimidating as he wants. he sounds pleading, not demanding. he sounds scared, and so weak, the fragile and naive person everyone thinks he is.

broken boy, damaged beyond repair, moth balls and dust bunnies, matchsticks and toothpicks and a spine becoming more and more prominent through his skin and he lost a tooth when tim punched him. it came clean out.

the masked person stands there, painfully quiet, favoring one leg over the other. did the bone heal properly?

they stare each other down and then, and then…there is a hissing sound, and it takes jay a while until he realizes. they are laughing at him.

he makes a move towards the window, thinking of maybe jumping out and running to his car, he’s got his keys in his pockets - but they’re faster.

they slam his head against the wall, and he kicks out, unbalances them. it was luck he struck the weaker leg. they’re laughing, laughing, and he scrambles up and goes for the window.

but the camera. it’s on the bed. he whips around, and the hissing sound is getting louder.

no, that’s - that’s not possible. it’s not…it’s just a mask. just a mask.

the mouth is open, black lips parted, and a fat long black tongue like an eel hangs out. they prop themselves up on their elbows. they could be toothless, or maybe their teeth and gums are black too.

they lick their lips and cackle. he hears static, and his knees give out.

jay is there, and not there, half-way into another memory gap and another forgotten nightmare. they loom over him.

they do something with their hands, making shapes in front of their face. sign language?

\--

#3

jay’s awful taste in huge sweaters comes in handy when they are hungry and desperate and even walmart brand food costs too much, and the local soup kitchens or food banks require membership or IDs and both of them are sure by now they could be arrested for something simple and boring like tax evasion (when’s the last time they paid a bill that wasn’t a hotel check-out, paid in cash?).

tim knows how to lean unsuspiciously against walls while keeping an eye out, and jay can stuff so much crap under his shirt within five seconds that tim’s honestly impressed.

basically, tim’s got to thank jay’s baggy shirts for this bag of twizzlers he’s stuffing his face with right now. he flicks to another channel on the tv, even though there’s only like, what, five channels available?

under the drone of a weather report he hears jay slam the bathroom door shut, and tim digs around in the bag for another twizzler. (yeah, he’s stress eating, but he does a lot more unhealthy things, this is the last thing he would worry about.) slamming doors means jay probably thinks he’s got a lead, which means another marathon of staring at the computer, hunched over, eyes squinted, clicking and clicking, pausing, typing, clicking some more.

"I’m going to be honest with you."

"huh?" tim says, mouthful of candy.

jay edges towards the bed, and sits down slowly at the end. “um, I said. I’m going to be honest.” he’s wearing that red long-sleeved shirt, and he pulls at the frayed cuffs. “with you. yeah.”

"…okay." that could mean a lot of things. it’s rude to eat with your mouth full, but, fuck it, now jay’s making him feel more anxious. he gets another twizzler out of the bag.

jay blurts out, “I’m very! very afraid of the doctors. okay. I know I’ve been acting a little stubborn but I’m so scared of going to this doctor you want me to, it’s weird, with our lives going to shit we still have to wait in offices and fill out medical forms and stuff? but that’s now what I’m afraid of, I’m really scared of, uh, okay, I’m scared of -“

"jay, take it easy, you look like you’re going to explode."

the next thing he says comes out very quietly, “I’m scared of going to this doctor you said I should see because, not very many doctors in alabama are safe for trans people.”

tim chews. jay watches him. 

"because i am trans. and I’m very afraid, because of that. and that’s what I wanted to be honest about," he clarifies.

"that’s a valid worry to have," tim says. "but you can believe in this doctor. he’s safe for me."

it takes five seconds (enough time to shove a bag of twizzlers and more under his shirt) for jay to process what he means, and then all he can say is, “uh?”

"i had to go through a bunch of legal gatekeeping bullshit to get on t, but this doctor won’t turn you away. trust me, jay."

\--

#4

2:25 in the morning. through the blinds he can see the sluggish gray-black color of the sky, not early enough to be morning, not late enough to be nighttime. the hour of existential crisis.

alex breathes softly on top of him, their naked bodies separated only by a blanket. jay’s throat feels raw. he took some cough drops three hours ago, they haven’t helped. alex bit his tongue, and he tried washing out the taste of blood with water but alex wouldn’t stop kissing him.

“goodnight baby,” alex had whispered, when they crawled into bed. there was a hint of tenderness, but his voice was still whiskey-husky and grinding against jay.

“don’t call me baby.”

“you used to love it.” he ran his hands through jay’s hair, messy post-coital hair, messy unshowered hair because he didn’t want to see himself naked in the bathroom mirror.

his back hurts. alex held him like a land mine, pressed him flat against the couch and turned down the tv. “I’m tired of watching brian mess up his lines.” his teeth grazed jay’s bottom lip. “let’s stop for tonight, we’ll edit tomorrow.” but alex wasn’t stopping.

his skin is slowly disintegrating

\--

#5

summary since i feel like this one needs an explanation: i had a dream jay had the jaws of a tiger and tim could fit in his head in there and he would like. gently put his head between jays teeth and it was a weird romantic thing for them

he has the devil’s power but he will never see hell, god must think he is ugly and sinful and maybe he is a demon, but he sleeps and he bleeds and he breathes. what defines a human. he can stay up for hours at a time, his body is a predator’s, but what defines a human. why should he define himself by humanity. he isn’t cut out for this kind of critical thinking. he calls himself a monster, a vampiric parasitic thing with animalistic jaws and a much larger appetite for meat than anyone he knows, just a monster. humans don’t have a word to define him as.

his name is jay, that’s what he knows. he spent years of his life glaring at paperwork and official documents with too-small printing and school tests that just made him feel useless, years looking at SEX: F and a wrong name but he changed that himself. he’s the very definition of a self-made man. his name is jay. he’s a monster. he used to read dictionaries for fun. he sometimes wants desperately to eat people.

it doesn't bother him, and definitely doesn't bother tim. when he unhinges his jaw, tim says it is beautiful, his teeth are beautiful, the hot spit that drips like lava is beautiful, the long white fangs that gently graze tim’s skin are beautiful, his body is a work of art. gently. gently. tim puts his head between his teeth, jay’s breath is warm and he salivates, he has told tim he will tell tim forever and ever until he’s scared away “i want to eat you, you look delicious, i want to eat you whole” but he isn't scared off. he says it’s a comforting to know, with the tall faceless monster chasing after them, that not all monsters are such cryptic bastards.

\--

#6

warnings for menstruation and dysphoria.

At some point late at night Jay wakes up in a cold sweat, and knocks over a lamp as he anxiously reaches for his water bottle. The light flickers out, and he jumps up to turn it back on.

As soon as he's on his feet he notices how bloated he feels, even though he only had a couple M&M's before bed. His stomach feels so uncomfortable, and he realizes instantly, shit.

When's the last time he even had his period? He missed it a month ago. Scratch that, seven months ago, he supposes. From a shitty diet, from stress, from a million bad things that make up his life now. He knew it wasn't healthy but couldn't help feeling immensely relieved when it never came. 

Now his cramps are back with a vengeance. He's hit with a wave of nausea and a horribly familiar feeling of self-hatred. It's like his body plans to throw it at him when it will make him the most miserable.

Jay stumbles to his backpack, hoping he isn't too late to save his underwear. He digs around for pads and comes up with nothing.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. He apparently hasn't stocked up in a while, and can't recall the last time he went to the store.

He turns his head towards Jessica's door and considers how awkward it would be to ask. She must be awake, because he can hear her pacing up and down the room. But he feels worse thinking of an explanation for why he needs pads, tampons, anything - without, well, explaining anything.

He gulps. It's either stuff his underwear with toilet paper and rush to the nearest open convenience store, or risk outing himself. He doesn't exactly feel like running out into the empty hotel hallway, so he decides, what the hell, he's already lied to Jessica several times. He can come up with one more flimsy excuse.

Tentatively he knocks on the door connecting their rooms. The sound of her footsteps cease, and he almost picks out a second pair of footsteps from inside her room before she whips open the door.

She looks exhausted. “What?” she snaps. “I was sleeping.”

“I heard you -” he stops himself, not wanting to start a fight. “Um, it's just...do you have any, uh...”

“Where's your camera?”

“In my room...?”

“Whenever we talk, you always have it. Not complaining. Just noticing.”

“Yeah. Right.” He tries not to look at her, but that means looking into her room, her dark, silent room that he doesn't feel she's alone in.

“What did you need?”

“Do you...have any pads?” She looks at him for a quiet moment, and he can feel his face going red and silently curses himself for ever knocking on her door.

“No, I don't.”

His stomach drops. “That's – that's okay, I didn't need them, they were for -”

“Jay, it's okay.” Her eyes soften. “You know, I don't have them, because...because I don't need them.”

“You mean, like...like, uh...”

That can mean a lot of things, but in context it seems a lot like what he really hopes it means. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding with a rush, all worries about being outed and misgendered and asked intimate weird questions squashed. Because she's probably been asked a lot of intimate weird questions, too, more so than him.

\--

#7

post-series

“The cat hates me, Tim.”

“No, she doesn't.” The animal in question rubs against his legs, and he reaches down to scratch behind her ears. “And she has a name, you know.”

“The cat peed on my socks! They weren't even on the floor! They were on the bed! So she peed on the socks, _and_ the bed.”

“Her name is Spot, not 'the cat.' ”

“Spot isn't a very original name,” Jay grumbles. Spot glares at him with her only eye, and Tim coos as he picks her up to sit her on his lap. She kneads him with her large mitts of paws, and Jay swears she doesn't look away from him once as she flicks her crooked tail and gets her black fur all over his boyfriend.

They didn't adopt her so much as she adopted them. It was sudden – Jay came home from his boring office job, and there was a bag of cat food in the kitchen. As well as a scratch post, a litter box, and a cat sleeping on his side of the bed. He liked her, at first, because he noticed how much calmer Tim was with her around.

But then she started peeing _everywhere._ And drooling whenever she was pet. So much cat piss, and drool, and days when he was too tired to change the litter box so it stinks up the whole fucking house. Tim is content with the little monster, somehow.

Her namesake comes from the single white spot on her left hind leg. The rest of her is covered entirely in a thick coat of black fur, except for her paws. One of her front paws has a tiny white spot above the claw she can't retract. She has so many claws – Jay remembers that morning when he accidentally tripped on her, and she caught him across the leg good. 

“But she is a very original cat, isn't she? Aren't you, baby?” He kisses the top of her head. “Now stop hovering at the doorway and come eat breakfast, Jay.” 

“I can't. I have laundry to do.” He looks right at Spot as he says that last part. 

Around noontime, when Tim's at work and Jay's lounging in the Friday sunshine on the LazyBoy rip-off couch they got at a garage sale for ten bucks, Spot starts meowing, and meowing. Jay finally gets up to check on her, and she's at the door, flicking her bent tail and meowing. 

“What do you want, you little rat.” 

He opens the door for Spot, and Brian's there, about the knock. 

For years something else had control of Brian's body, and he doesn't act at all like he did in college. Whether or not it's the one in the hood, no longer out to get them - whatever new being in in this body has the residual memories of Brian, and they're happy he's alive. 

He comes in, cane wobbling in his early onset arthritic hands on the hard floors, and smiles down at Spot. 

“Who's a good little rat?” 

\-- 

#8 

sort of nsfw. 

Jay pushes back the curtains from the window and looks out across the dark parking lot. His breath fogs the glass. 

“We could have gotten a few more miles in today,” he says. 

“In this rain? Look, I don't think either of us want to drive any further today, not through that weather.” Tim kicks off his shoes as he sits back on his bed. 

The camera tucked up besides the TV faces the beds. Tim unbuckles the one strapped to his chest and sets it on the table besides his bed. The scratchy blankets and the stiff mattress feel like heaven as he collapses face first onto his pillow, still in his clothes. 

Jay shivers and backs away from the window. His neck has been sore for a solid week now and his arms are heavy In fact, his whole body feels heavy. He glances at the rock hard blankets, too thin to keep anyone warm, and thinks about a nice, hot shower. 

He rummages through this week's groceries – crackers, trail mix, beef jerky. And the non-edible items. God bless planned parenthood for the free condoms. If only they handed out free tapes for the cameras. 

Next to the half-empty lube is a carton of juice.. Jay's confused at first because they never get juice, only splurge on soda, but then he realizes what kind it is. 

Pineapple. Pineapple juice. 

“...freezing in here,” Tim grumbles. 

“Tim.” He stands there looking at the pineapple juice. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you trying to tell me something?” 

“Uh, what?” 

Jay holds up the pineapple juice. “Are you suggesting something here, Tim? About _me_ , maybe?” 

“Maybe I just like pineapple juice, okay?” 

“I like chicken nuggets, but we never get those. That means you think this is a necessary purchase.” Jay sits down with a huff. 

“This is...an awkward conversation I never wanted to have.” Tim laughs nervously. “Okay, I did not want to have to clarify this, but the pineapple juice is for me. I think I need it.” 

“Oh. That's, what?” 

“I know why you don't swallow. I taste nasty because I'm a smoker, I _know this,_ and I hear pineapple juice is supposed to make you taste better, so, okay?” 

Jay could not turn any more red. “That's not...true.” 

“You had to fucking ask about the pineapple juice.” 

“Are you sure it's not because of me? And you don't, _taste bad,_ Tim -" 

Tim laughs again. “I could prove it to you, that it's not for you. Come here.” 

\-- 

#9 

The rain comes down in bullets and she doesn't bother regretting leaving her jacket in the car now zooming away down the road. With the look on Alex's face as he slammed the door, Jessica doesn't want to imagine what it would be like to open the door back up and see him. 

What would he do? Ignore her? Yell at her again? Tell her to sit down, he's got a lot of explaining to do? 

A queasy feeling twists around in her stomach and she feels bile in her throat. She hasn't eaten since the bagel she stuffed in her mouth this morning on her way out of the apartment. 

The rain pounds down relentlessly on her bare shoulders. Her wet hair is plastered to her forehead and scalp. She sniffs. Again, she doesn't bother regretting anything. Jessica already feels sick. A cold would be nothing compared to the storm her life has been for the past few weeks. 

Her phone rings in her pocket. She scrambles underneath a tree and picks it up, shielding the screen with her hand. The cut on her palm still stings. 

“Hello?” she says, shakily. 

“Hey, Jessica. I'm near Wal-Mart and I was wondering if we needed anything,” She recognizes Amy's tired “just got off from a shitty day at work” voice. 

“Oh my God, Amy,” she almost sobs. “Thank God you called!” 

“What? What's the matter?” 

“You know how Alex and I have been, uh, a little upset with each other recently?” Jessica glances up. His car is already out of distance. 

“Yeah, what happened? Get in another loud fight again?” 

“Kinda,” she gives a short laugh. The rain smudged the blood; she wipes it off on her pants, wincing. “You see-” She's cut off as Amy's line goes fuzzy. “Hey, Amy, you there?” 

“Jessica? Jessica? Can you hear me?” 

“Yeah, I can. But can you hear-” 

“Jessica? This isn't funny! I know you're mad at Alex but-” Her voice cuts to static. There's a _click_ and, then, silence. 

Jessica tries to call her back to no avail. She swears and shakes her phone, as if all the cryptic texts Alex has been leaving her will solve themselves, and Amy won't go in the closet and find the camera. 

Her train of thought trails off, because that hasn't happened yet. Amy hasn't found the camera yet. A whirring, anxious sound in the back of her head blocks out the sound of rain and squelching mud as a car drives up to a stop next to her. 

“What are you doing back here?” she says. 

He slams the door behind him, and stands in the rain, glaring at her. “I just realized we did this exact same thing yesterday.” 

“We...we did.” What the hell. “Why is it happening again?” 

“I don't know. I don't know.” 

“You have to know! You've been acting so weird, and -” 

They fight, again, and it's the same. Stuck in a loop of unhappiness. And she's in the rain again 

\-- 

#10 

post-series idea I had 

It's not a “Honey, I'm home!” kind of relationship. It's more of a mutually quiet kind of relationship. Intimately platonic. Three A.M. conversations where you spill all your secrets. Tim leaves a lot, driving nowhere, and comes home exhausted and shaking. Jessica starts jogging to keep her mind off things, and quickly gives up jogging and picks up painting. Then she tries getting into poetry, then pottery, then yoga. Then Tim's buying pack of cigarettes for two. 

They live on the side of a freeway in a scattered neighborhood track. Indiana is miles of nothing and it suits them. The land is flat and the grass is yellow. No one knows them here. They listen to the cars pass them by at night, and watch the corn fields across the freeway move in the wind. It's all dust in the wind. No trees. 

Tim still has a box of tapes he hasn't touched in forever, and the face behind the memory is a vague pale smear of a silhouette. The memory ends on a cliffhanger. He could burn the tapes, or watch them. But something tells him it would start a cycle he can't remember all over again. 

What must have happened to that vague pale silhouette? 

\-- 

#11 

The room is dark, blurry, and cold. There's no reason for anybody sharing a bed with two other people to be cold unless someone's being selfish. Jessica grumbles as she tries to find the blankets. Amy makes a disturbed sound next to her. As her brain slowly turns on, she turns over and Amy's clutching the blankets to her body, eyes wide, breathing heavy. 

“Amy?” she asks, blinking and reaching out for her. 

“Jessica,” she whimpers. “Oh my God, I had the worst nightmare.” 

Alex grumbles from the other side of Amy as he rolls around, trying to flop his arm over her. The sound of Amy's panic makes him open his eyes, and he sees Jessica's look of concern, hears her comforting Amy. 

He makes a indistinct groggy sound that translates to “What's wrong?” 

“Amy had a bad nightmare,” Jessica says. 

“It wasn't just a _bad nightmare,”_ Amy protests. “It was...all of us, we were all...we were all dead. We were – hanging in these trees, hanging in these plastic bags. Plastic bags filled with...us, filled with our bodies. We were dead. And I was suffocating in my bag, and I just had this nagging feeling, thinking that the trees...the trees were going to come for us.” 

\-- 

#12 

“We went to the same high school, didn't we? How come we never hung out?” Jay asked, backpack slung over his shoulder and feet pointed towards the door as if he was ready to run at any second. He always looked so timid and sleep-deprived, and Alex almost mistook him for a guy who stayed up all night studying until he found him playing Pokemon during a lecture. 

Alex shrugged. “Didn't get into filming until my senior year, really. I met Amy in a video production class and she got me into it.” 

(He remembers walking in and seeing Amy talking to the teacher, and becoming the embodiment of all teenage romance movies within the amount of time it took for his brain to catch up with his heart. She had a faded blue streak in her hair and he thought, “Well, shit, I'm in love.” 

Everyone knew he had a crush on her. Everyone knew she had a crush on him.) 

“Huh. But we had ceramicstogether freshmen year, I remember that.” 

They talked about the one kid's pot that blew up in the kiln, how the explosion ruined the advanced student's masks, and how the advanced students seriously considered making a petition to suspend him. Jay gave Alex a guilty look as he said, “I signed it only because they were all seniors and I had seen too many movies where freshmen ended up in trash cans.” 

“When I make movies,” Alex laughed, “the freshmen will be the ones putting the seniors in the trash cans. Movies where the underdog comes out on top.” 

\-- 

#13 

Somehow, between the boxes of pizza and beer cans, Alex managed to drop an Ouija Board in the clutter. 

Jay's eyes bulged as his can of Mountain Dew teetered dangerously on Seth's grandmother's ancient, extremely fragile, college diet unfriendly table. 

“Hey!” Seth called out. “Remember, this table is very ancient, and very fragile, okay?” 

“How come you didn't tell me you had one of these things lying around, dude?” Alex ignored him, greedily eyeing Ouija Board. 

“You're not thinking of messing around with that, are you?” Brian asked. 

“Shut up, stoner,” Alex said. He squeezed himself between Jay and Seth. “We're totally messing around with this.” 

“I dunno, man. Sounds like a bad idea to me.” Tim looked wearily at the board. 

“Shut up, stoner number two.” 

\-- 

#14 

The same remix of the Goosebumps theme has been playing for about an hour now. College students in ridiculous costumes swarm all over the long table covered in pumpkins, bowls of candy, and cases and cases of beer. 

Alex is totally trashed. The same remix of the Goosebumps theme has been playing for an hour now, and no one seems to have noticed. There are people swarming all over the long table covered in pumpkins, bowls of candy, and beer. The entire campus seems to be crowded in Amy's house, and there's no way he'll be able to find her alone. 

She dances from one group to the next, laughing and clinking glasses. The only time he's ever talked to her, _really_ talked to her, not just borrowing paper or asking the time, was when Brian introduced them. He takes another swig of his drink. 

He gestures towards Brian in a group of superheroes and one very tipsy catgirl, but he doesn't respond. Alex puts his arm down and decides he wants to be infinitely more drunk. 

Some guy in a football jersey that played a supporting role in his last project elbows him. “Those gay dudes are here.” He points to Brian, and Alex can't see Tim through the crowd of Batmans and cowboys but Alex figures he's besides Brian. 

“What?” 

“You know, those...those guys who are really obviously gay. Uh, I support – it – and all, but they don't need to flaunt it so much." 

Alex turns to look at him, too amazed to be pissed off. “Oh, yeah, totally. And I sure am one of the heterosexuals. I am totally straight. Get those gays away from me, heterosexual Alex! Beep boop.” He moves his arms like a robot. “Beep. Heterosexual Alex coming through.” He walks out of the circle, elbowing a werewolf on his way out. “Good day, fellow straights.” 

He falls onto the nearest cough, spilling his drink on the floor. Oops. 

From out of the swirling crowd, Seth slinks onto the couch besides him, and he mumbles something about being the designated driver as he takes a drink from a bottle of water. He's dressed as a zombie this year, and Alex is actually impressed with the costume. The corn syrup blood is a little tacky, but he files that away in case he needs a costume designer for the latest film he's planning. 

“Alex.” Seth freezes. “Oh my God, Jay's here.” 

“Yeah, he's been here,” Alex says. 

“Should I go talk to him?” 

“Go for it, man. Talk to him about World of Warcraft or something.” 

“I don't play World of Warcraft.” 

“Then talk to him about Runescape.” 

Seth scuttles off, definitely not in Jay's direction. He looks like he's heading outside, probably to run away before he bumps into his crush. 

Brian's boyfriend comes up next to Alex. He's not that talkative except when he's stoned as balls. How did Alex not notice him walk up, though? The dude is like a ninja turtle. 

“What's the mask for?” Alex slurs, waving his arm in the direction of the white mask in Tim's hand. There's nothing else in Tim's hands, no red solo cup. He's more of a smoker. Alex almost smacks him in the face. 

“Oh, it's nothing. Just a last minute costume from the dollar store. Isn't even that scary. Also, I can't see out of it - “ Tim stops as Sarah comes stumbling up to them, dressed as Nurse Joy. 

“Alex, you look so nice,” she giggles. “You look like, like that talk show host guy? You know the one that, you know, that one. That guy. You look good.” 

Alex thinks he is blushing but his face is already red from the alcohol in his system. “Aw, thanks, Sarah.” 

“I tried to get Tim and Brian to dress up with me as Team Rocket, but Tim's a butt, and Brian already had his costume.” 

“You're a butt, Tim,” Alex says to the man on the couch with him. 

“You're drunk as fuck.” 

“And you're not?” 

“I don't like drinking.” 

“You don't like _anything,”_ Sarah whines. “I swear, I will get you to lighten up. You will have fun tonight, mark my words.” 

Sarah grabs onto Tim's arm, and drags him out towards Brian's group. Welp. Alex is alone, again. 

Not for long. 

“I'm not jealous of Brian! Why would I be? I'm definitely not jealous.” Jay wobbles into the room and lands on the couch. 

“I didn't ask if you were.” 

“Yeah, well, just putting it out there,” he slurs. “Not jealous. That – that douche, that's what he is. A douche I'm not jealous of! Who cares if they look at each other like they're in love? Like, why would I be jealous of that!” He laughs sharply and hiccups. “Not me, not Jay, not at all.” 

“Who's they?” 

“A douche and, and Tim. You know Tim? He's, oh man, he's, uh...perfect? Handsome? Mysterious? Perfect? Like, the whole handsome, mysterious aesthetic. It's perfect. I'm just saying, platonically, I would make out with him until my lips fell off.” 

\--

#15

Maybe he's vomiting.

That wouldn't make that much sense, though, considering he's dead. Dying? Unsure. But his body is ejecting something onto the concrete, and it's not blood – wouldn't matter what it is, the concrete of this abandoned school is as dirty as the forest floor.

He sees trees passing him by, like he's in the car, someone hit the breaks and he's slammed, breathless, against his seat, wheezing. Maybe it's just blood in his mouth, but isn't the whole point of dying to, well, not feel anything from your body anymore?

He would close his eyes but it wouldn't matter anyway, there's something black blocking his vision and he isn't certain that it's just his hood. 

He isn't certain at all of very much except that he is somewhere between the forest, the backseat of Tim's car, they're playing Britney Spears and Alex is laughing, really laughing, and so is he, pointing a camera at Tim and singing and honestly laughing – he spits, coughs, he is vomiting. Maybe.

Brian is dying.

\--

#16

the first thing that came to mind was “but you wear plaid.”

“is it against the rules for vampires to wear plaid?” tim demanded.

“no, but, it's...it's not what vampires usually wear.” jay fidgeted.

tim rolls his eyes. “what else am I supposed to wear? a cloak? a top hat? a shirt that says 'bite me'? ”

the second thing was “but you smoke.”

“it keeps down...urges.”

“doesn't that just give you another urge?”

tim shrugs. “nicotine's better than craving blood.”

the third was “but you don't look undead,” which tim replied to with, “but you sure as hell do.”

then he ran out of any more “but!” questions, and sat for the next thirty minutes rolling the camera back and forth between his hands, until tim sighed, stood up, and said, “I just told you I'm a vampire, jay!”

jay looked up, and back down. “yeah, you did.”

“why is this so awkward? aren't you, I don't know, freaked out or something? aren't you going to storm off? do anything besides sit and make me feel weird?”  
he ran his fingers through his hair, waiting.

“sorry,” jay eventually said. “I didn't mean to make you feel weird.”

“oh my god. Jay! I drink blood! I'm undead!”

“uh, yeah, that's been established.”

tim snorted. jay didn't know what he'd done to piss him off, but he grumbled, “I need a smoke,” and stormed out of the room.

#17

more sort of nsfw.

His pupils are pretty dilated and his eyes are a little red, but it's not something a pair of sunglasses couldn't cover up. He's only a little high, and it isn't the best or worst high he's ever gotten.

He can stand up without wobbling, and, when he moves to the music coming out of his speakers, he doesn't fall over. (That would be pretty funny, though. He laughs for a solid minute thinking of it.) Then again, it's never fun to smoke until he can't walk.

It's such a mediocre high, though, that he puts down the joint to pull out of his phone to text Brian.

The screen of his phone is too overwhelming to look at, but he can't remember how to turn down the brightness. The word “Verizon” flashes across the screen and he squints at the too-bright letters, bringing up his contacts.

He presses the wrong buttons and ends up calling Brian instead of messaging him. “Uhm,” he says.

“Dude,” Brian laughs on the other end. “Is that Toxic I hear in the background?”

“I know you can quote it in your sleep, Brian.”

“True, true. Anyway, whaddya you need?”

“Uh.”

There's laughter again, but from two people. “Are you high?”

“Uh...?”

“Jesus, Tim. It's a Monday.”

“So...are you busy?”

“I'm at Alex's right now. We're supposed to be studying, but we haven't even looked at a textbook since I got here.”

“So can I come over?”

“Alex doesn't mind, but...do you need a ride? Can you safely get into a car and drive here?”

“Have some faith in me. I've driven high before.”

“I was in a car once with you when you were stoned, and you were too busy singing I'm Bringing Sexy Back to watch the road. This happened last month.”

“Look, that's just a really catchy song. You can't hold me accountable for that. That's unfair.”

“Yeah, we all know that Justin Timberlake gives you gay thoughts.”

“Are you kidding me? You're saying that like all my thoughts aren't gay.”

Ten minutes later, Jay opens his door to find Tim on his doorstep. 

Tim looks at Jay and thinks he should have taken that offer for a ride.

They share a moment of mutual confusion until Tim breaks the silence and asks, “Brian?”

“No, I'm Jay.” He stares at his feet as he talks. He looks flustered, hair messed up and cheeks red.

“I mean...Brian? Is he here?”

“...Brian isn't here.” He looks back up at Tim with concern. “Are you ok?”

“Oh, shit,” Tim starts laughing. “I went to the wrong house.”

“Are you...ok?” Jay asks again.

“I can't wait to tell Brian. Oh my God. Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure,” Jay stammers. He turns aside so Tim can shuffle inside.

He looks around at a pretty drab apartment. A bunch of wires and consoles are hooked up to a small TV near the door. Scattered paperwork and a trail of socks lead up to an open bedroom door; he can see a flat mattress in the corner from where he stands.

There's a tripod next to the TV with no camera hooked onto it, but there's a camera and tangled equipment all over a desk pushed up against the wall, filling whatever area is leftover from the big computer squatting on the desk. The hulking machine looms over a chair pushed back away from the desk, like it's trying to escape the large display with the Runescape log-in screen above it.

It's actually a pretty clean apartment for a guy who plays Runescape.

“Do you have anything to drink?” Tim asks.

“There's some Mountain Dew in the fridge,” Jay says as Tim wanders towards the couch facing the TV. “Want some?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” He's a polite pothead.

Jay shambles over to the kitchen as Tim looks around at the empty walls – no band posters or anything, just plain white paint and closed windows. The room smells like popcorn and sweat, and it makes Tim want some chips to snack on. He glances at the desk, and there's not even a bag of Cheez-it's stuffed among all the wires and complicated bits of junk.

How does this guy go without a bag of chips at hand? Does he get up to eat whenever he's hungry?

He looks back at the computer, and he can barely pick out the shitty digital sword with the words “Runescape” all around it. Jay must have logged out when he got up to open the door.

Tim thinks, why don't they just add a pause feature? But then again, that would pause everyone else. And then nothing would get done, because some ten year old would pause it and wouldn't unpause it until hours later, and some other edgy ten year old would pause it again later. Either that, or a twenty year old. They're all the same.

“Tim. Tim?”

“What?” Tim looks away from the computer. Jay stands in front of him, holding out a can of Mountain Dew with a worried look on his face.

“Are you alright?” Jay asks for the third time. Tim takes the soda with a “thanks,” and he opens it up as Jay keeps watching him.

“I'm alright?” He doesn't get why Jay looks vaguely grossed out, nose wrinkled up.

“It's just that...I don't mean to be rude, but, um, what's that smell?”

Tim laughs, his drink shaking in his hand. “Dude, it's weed.”

Jay's eyes widen and Tim keeps laughing.

“Youre...high?” he says with wonder.

“Calm down, it's only weed.” Jay keeps standing in front of him with a mix of curiosity and concern. His eyebrows sort of lift and sort of furrow together like he doesn't know which expression to go with. “Just sit down. Don't worry about it. Do you have Netflix or anything?”

“Um.” Jay glances at his computer.

“Come on, I'm bored as hell, it's a Monday night, and you can't just play Runescape on a Monday night all alone.” Tim pats the cough seat next to him, and Jay silently sits down.

“Well, the remote is...” He gestures towards Tim at the end table tucked up against the couch. Tim fumbles around for it, finds it, and hands it to Jay.

“So what's being high like?” Jay asks, glancing away from his hands as he takes the remote from Tim.

“Like everything is fine,” he says, “but it's nothing like the high you give me, baby.”

Somehow the bad pick-up line actually works and Jay turns even more flushed. Surprised, and definitely pleased, Tim rolls with it and tries to be as smooth as he can while his brain is halfway in dream land.

Jay turns on the TV and Drake & Josh is the first thing to come on. He quickly goes to change it, but Tim starts laughing when he hears Josh's voice.

“Nickelodeon is like,” he starts, loses his train of thought. He gestures his hand vaguely at the ceiling and Jay's eyes follow the movement. “It's the best when you're stoned.”

Jay nods as if he gets it and Tim laughs again at the tv. 

“You're also the,” he stops again, trying to think of something clever. Jay is still red and keeps peeking at Tim. It looks like he wants to move but doesn't know in which direction. “Also. Also, the best.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles in a small voice. He pulls at his collar even though it's cold as balls in the apartment.

“You can use my name, you know.” Tim winks but ends up scrunching up the side of his face, and then pretends to cough to cover himself up. 

“Thank you, Tim,” he says in an even tinier voice.

Tim goes for the most cliché thing he can think of, not being able to think of anything more, and raises his hand to cover a fake yawn, then slowly stretches it out towards Jay. Jay goes stiff, but then relaxes against the couch, fidgeting, still blushing. 

Tim thinks this might not be such a mediocre high.

“I'm, uh, uh,” Jay stutters. “I love Drake & Josh.”

 _”Same.”_ Tim glances back at the TV. “Hey, Jay.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh. I was gonna quote the show but I can't remember one.”

This time Jay laughs. “That's okay.”

“Your laugh is cute.”

Jay swallows, and mumbles, “Thanks.”

“Do you wanna, like.” He spaces out looking at the screen. “Make out or something?”

Jay squeaks, and scoots out of Tim's arms. He stands up, almost trips, and stands there looking frazzled in his front room as Tim wonders if he came off too strong.

“Uh! Uh. Uh! I! Have to pee really bad!” he says.

"Then go?"

Jay stands there, looking like he's been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Tim looks at him, and then he slowly connects the dots – Jay was sweaty and flustered when he opened the door, and his pants are still unzipped.

“Look,” Tim says. “It is totally okay that you were jerking off before I got here. I walk in on Brian all the time. It's like a court of friendship to eventually discover your best friend with his hand around his dick or something. Like I've seen Brian's dick so much -”

“Can we – can we not talk about this?” Jay really wants to curl up and disappear forever. “Can we not?”

“Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don't even _have _a dick.”__


End file.
